When Iman Relieves Shayla’s Stress
Shayla hadn’t slept properly in days. Her eyes burned, her thoughts raced in loops, and every time she closed her eyes, Anthony’s voice echoed in her mind — that cold tone when he’d said, “We’ll do the DNA test.”
The words had cracked something deep inside her.
She sat on the edge of her bed now, staring at the morning light spilling through her curtains. Her phone buzzed again — messages from Anthony, then silence. Her chest tightened until it felt hard to breathe.
That’s when she made the call.
Shayla: “Hey… you busy?”
Iman: “For you? Never. What’s wrong?”
Her voice shook. “Can I just… come over?”
There was a pause — soft, understanding.
Iman: “You don’t even have to ask.”
The drive to Iman’s apartment felt endless. Her hands trembled on the steering wheel. She didn’t even realize she was crying until she saw the streaks of tears on her cheeks.
When she finally reached, Iman was already waiting by the door — no makeup, her hair wrapped up, wearing an oversized hoodie. She didn’t ask any questions. She just opened her arms.
And Shayla collapsed into them.
Iman held her like she’d been waiting for this moment — slow, steady, grounding. She smelled faintly of jasmine and coffee, her warmth wrapping around Shayla until the world stopped spinning.
Iman: “You’ve been holding it in too long,” she whispered. “You don’t have to anymore.”
For the first time in weeks, Shayla let go. She cried until her body shook, and Iman just held her, rubbing her back, whispering things she barely heard — “Breathe, baby. You’re safe now.”
Later, they sat on the couch with tea gone cold between them. The evening light turned the room gold.
Shayla: “It’s just… everything. The test, the rumors, Anthony’s mother calling me names… I don’t even know who to be anymore.”
Iman: “You don’t have to be anyone for them. You just have to be you.”
Shayla gave a broken laugh. “I don’t even know who that is anymore.”
Iman’s gaze softened. “Then maybe it’s time you find her again. Slowly. With someone who actually sees you.”
There was a silence — not uncomfortable, but heavy with meaning. Shayla looked up, and for a long second, their eyes locked.
Something flickered there — something unspoken, deep, magnetic.
Iman stood first. “Come on,” she said gently. “You need to rest.”
Her bedroom was softly lit, a candle burning on the nightstand, the air scented with lavender. Iman turned down the sheets. Shayla hesitated at the door.
Shayla: “I don’t want to be alone tonight.”
Iman looked at her — really looked — and nodded. “Then you’re not.”
She slid in beside her, close but careful, the kind of closeness that spoke of safety, not demand. Shayla rested her head on Iman’s shoulder, her breathing finally slowing.
Shayla: “You always know how to make me feel like I’m not falling apart.”
Iman: “Because I’ve been there. And someone held me, once. I’m just passing that kindness on.”
The candlelight danced across their faces, softening the lines of exhaustion. The silence between them felt sacred.
But healing isn’t a straight line. Some nights, it came back — the anxiety, the guilt, the echo of Anthony’s voice.
There were evenings Shayla couldn’t stop shaking. And sometimes, in those moments, she’d drive to Iman’s again without even calling.
Each time, Iman would open the door like she had been waiting — wordless, steady, her eyes saying you’re not alone anymore.
They would talk. Sometimes they wouldn’t. Sometimes Iman would just play soft music and make her breathe in rhythm. Sometimes she’d just pull her close until the storm passed.
Weeks later, after the DNA results came — confirming Anthony was the father — Shayla felt her chest twist with both relief and sorrow. She texted Iman:
“It’s over. I should feel better… but I don’t.”
The reply came instantly.
“Come here. No explanations. Just come.”
That night, it rained hard. When Shayla arrived, soaked and trembling, Iman took her coat, pulled her close, and whispered, “You’ve done enough crying for him. Tonight, you breathe for you.”
She lit a candle, turned on soft music, and guided Shayla to lie down, resting her head on her lap. Iman’s fingers traced small circles on her scalp, easing the tightness in her temples.
Iman: “You’ve carried too much. Let someone carry you for once.”
Shayla closed her eyes. “You always say the right thing.”
Iman: “No. I just tell you what you deserve to hear — and you’ve forgotten how to believe it.”
There was warmth, and quiet understanding. For the first time, Shayla felt the noise in her head fade — replaced by the sound of Iman’s heartbeat beneath her ear.
It wasn’t about romance anymore, or confusion, or even the past. It was peace — the kind that comes when someone finally sees you, fully and without judgment.
Morning came softly. The rain had stopped.
Iman made breakfast, humming while the sunlight poured in. Shayla stood in the doorway, watching her — the way she moved easily through her kitchen, calm and sure.
Shayla: “You’ve been my anchor, you know that?”
Iman: “And you’ve been stronger than you think. You just needed someone to remind you.”
Shayla smiled faintly. “I don’t know what happens next.”
Iman: “Then start with this — today. One breath, one step. You don’t owe anyone your chaos anymore.”
That night, Shayla drove home under a quiet sky. Her reflection in the rearview mirror looked different — softer somehow, lighter.
The DNA case was behind her. Anthony was part of her past. But Iman — Iman had become something else entirely.
Not just comfort. Not just friendship.
A mirror. A sanctuary.
When she reached home, Shayla sent one last message:
“Thank you. For being my peace when everything else was noise.”
Iman replied with a single heart and the words:
“Always.”
And for the first time in a long time, Shayla believed it.
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